It was in the late 1990s, at the time I was about 5-6 years old. My parents, as I think, and everyone at the time, were strictly forbidden to open the door to strangers. Every morning they went to work and said, “Don’t open it to anyone until we come in the evening and open it to you.” I was an obedient companion in this regard to such an extent that one day my grandmother decided to come to us, but naturally I did not let her be afraid to get a whisper from her parents for not fulfilling the order. Grandma, by the way, acted with understanding and said that she would come in tonight. One day, my grandfather decided to come. Naturally, I did not let him go, too, for which I was sent three letters and the door opened with the key he had. Despite the fact that it was my grandfather, I was so scared that somebody would enter the apartment that I, as a guerrilla, stood forward in the passage and started screaming that he would be killed away, because his parents did not allow anyone to let go! Naturally, my grandfather answered me with a weary lust, left the bags from the country in the kitchen and quietly left, closing the door behind me, leaving me stuck and reconciled to the defeat in the hallway. When the parents came, they laughed so and did not understand my childhood outrage, but made amendments to the rule that grandfather and grandmother can go home.